The Sky At Night
by Lysimachus
Summary: Regulus Black was not a coward. Regulus Black knew the truth, and no matter how many people didn't think he did...she knew. RB/MM


Disclaimer: I own nothing. It's all in the hands of JKR

(A/N): You may start this off a bit startled. I apologize.

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**Prologue: the End, the Beginning, and End Again**

England, 1999

Mason fought—he just wanted someone to know that, for the record.

He was there and he fought, just like his parents would have wanted him to.

He didn't have to leave New Zealand.

He didn't have to go fight in a war that was miles away.

He could have stayed perfectly lazy at home, in relaxation while he knew a battle that he'd lost his past to was still in progress.

But he didn't. _No. _He _couldn't_. Not after all this time.

Of course, his aunt and uncle had even begged him to stay, afraid of what would become of their nephew (and his aunt's only living relation) after trying so hard to protect him all those years. But he knew where he had to be.

Out fighting—that's where—fighting for what the rest of his family died for.

Then, after decades of suffering and madness and loss, it was over. Two years ago, justice had finally dragged Voldemort to the innermost circles of hell.

Currently, Mason sat in his bedroom (in a new apartment he'd purchased that stood in a building over Diagon Alley), staring at the things that once belonged to his mother—things she kept it in a wooden box with the family crest brandished on the surface of the mahogany lid.

He ran his fingers through his dark bronze hair, remembering the first time he opened it.

This box since he'd had since he was four, given to him by his aunt when she thought he was old enough to not chew on everything he laid eyes on.

There used to be a ring in here that he now wore on his right hand ring finger. His aunt told him that when he turned sixteen, the ring would fit him because it was rightfully his.

And on December 18, 1995, it did—fit like a glove, for lack of better analogy.

It was a family ring, an heirloom passed down the line since the first of the household—_a household for the stars_, his uncle told him once—and figured out exactly what his uncle meant by that when Mason took Astrologic Divination in his third year at school.

Ah, yes, astrology. That seemed to be big in his father's family.

He stared blankly at the things in front of him.

Some of the other things in the box were a mess of old, moving pictures. Mixed with these photos were old letters and notes, some of his mother's jewelry, and a quill.

One particular letter was addressed from his father to his mother, a letter that he found himself contemplating over and over since the time he could first read.

Simple and vague, it was, and left so much to the imagination.

When he was younger, he used to picture how his mother reacted reading it for the first time and wondered if she used to look it over as much as he did, rereading the blurry words and meanings until she'd memorized every line and punctuation, like he had—not that there was much to commit to memory, but still.

All of these, stuffed in antiqued wooden box, all to give him a glimpse of the past, a past of the parents that he lost.

Known to him was only how his mother died, since his aunt was there when it happened. But his father was a different story. Hell, he had no clue what happened to him. No one truly did. Not his uncle, not his aunt (who only had snippets of information), and not anyone else—well, no one else really knew Mason's true lineage, so there really _wasn't _anyone else.

No answers had conveniently waltzed up to his doorstep at his will at all during his twenty years of life—not that he expected that.

But he _did _know of someone who could possibly know. He did his research and investigating. He wasn't some nub-minded fool that had no idea where to start. He knew that if there was an answer, this would be where to look.

So when the opportunity came to go to England (and for a just reason) he took it without a moment's hesitation.

Fight against a bunch of Death Eaters? No sweat. Remarkably talented, his professors used to say about him.

He grinned. _If they only knew it was genetic._

When the war was over, he could finally relax and start his quest for an answer.

Truthfully, thatwas another reason he'd come to England—if not the sole purpose aside the war—was to find this certain person. A person who was very difficult to reach, a person whom meant of the utmost importance to everyone's gratitude, a person that he'd only heard about in the news and accounts passed down by mouth.

A person Mason wished could answer a question that he'd been asking himself for…

Well, for forever, it seemed.

He takes a look out the window to glance at the weather before leaving. The sky is sunny and blue.

He'll take a jacket anyway, just in case, as he sets off to find the one who saved the world.

**ooo**

April 1979

_(Twenty years ago on some forgotten hiding place hidden within rocks and water, where children used to stumble and scare, where the darkest one keeps part of his secret)_

This is where it can start, here, at the end.

_His _end.

Regulus found himself at the mercy of the raging sea, so high in the air, standing in the rocks, the water is so far below—it must be several feet downwards.

So why does he feel like he's already drowning?

Palisades that were rocky and stone, an ominous cave carved in its chest. Inside the mouth of the monster, fate awaits.

He doesn't know it all, but he knows enough to ride on more than a guess.

Waves crash.

He will crash.

In his mind's eye, he can see _her_—saying, pleading _not here, not now_. But his brain and his heart are no match for his newfound sprouting conscience (and bloody hell, when did that get there?).

Overhead, the sky is colored black and is lined with stars (and oh isn't that ironic).

It's the same deep, limitless sky that used to sit on their eyelids at night while they slept soundly in their dorms. The same night sky he'd gaze into until all hours of the night, high in the Astronomy Tower. It hasn't changed and it never will.

Regulus has thought this over many times before he set out. And now he's thinking it a million times over as he looms over the deadly instrument.

_Was this right?_

He hoped to whomever and whatever higher being was out there that it was so. Otherwise this would be for naught.

The locket is in his hands.

Before knowingly slipping into a trap, he takes one last glance at the sky, and realizes where his fate is.

He finally knows what wrong is.

And this, this isn't.

_(As the lonely boy descends into the lonely end, let's descend further into the past back again)_

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(A/N): So here we are two little snippets of two different generations. Hope it wasn't too confusing. If you have any questions or suggestions or corrections to make, feel free to say something. Everything will be cleared up in later chapters, do not fret.

This is just the beginning, after all.

PS: I kinda got the inspiration for this story from **Sakai Michiba****'s **_The Secret and Lies of Regulus Black _but they never finished that :( *sadness I know, I know. I'm a plagiarist.


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